


An Audience

by missigma



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Bad Ending, Humiliation, M/M, Monsters, Rape/Non-con Elements, Slavic Folklore, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:42:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24601033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missigma/pseuds/missigma
Summary: The audience tittered. Geralt spared them another glance but found their attention focused across the cave. The opposite gate rattled in its frame.The light behind it, a creature stood in shadow, hunched forwards to fit inside the hallway. Geralt narrowed his eyes, trying to distinguish at least the creature's taxonomy. It appeared humanoid, though dark fur covered its body. Its head tapered into a snout, the silhouette distinctive of a predator.His eyes adjusted to the light, Geralt studied it in detail as it appeared to do the same. In places black-scaled skin was visible between patches of fur. If it was a werewolf, it was unlike any Geralt had ever encountered. Its snout was shorter and rounded ears set back farther, flat and close to its skull. As a whole, its features were an odd coupling of species, part wolf, part reptile, part man.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Other(s), Monster/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Comments: 2
Kudos: 42





	An Audience

A fortress stood alone above sodden fields, filled with stalks of grain bent by hail. The shoots barely matched the height of Roach's fetlocks, though it was near midsummer.

The lord of these lands had chosen to blame this misfortune on the supernatural. At first Geralt disagreed. He was content to blame bad luck and capricious weather, but each villager he spoke to echoed the same story. The day the dark cloud came it carried a black-winged serpent. An ala.

Now its great head hung from his saddle, visage no less fearsome in death. Spiked scales lined the ridge above each eye, though now without the white hot gleam of lightning in them. At the junction of its head and spine, a triple set of horns protruded, one still bearing the stain of Geralt's blood.

Outside the gate, a few young boys waited, eager for a glimpse of the monster. They crowded close to Roach's flank, and she shied away, nickering. A single glare from Geralt dispersed them.

"Race you!" one cried.

Two boys sprinted ahead to spread the word as Geralt made his way towards the lord's manor. The rest trailed through the narrow alleys behind him.

"Witcher," the lord's advisor met him at the steps. He smiled broadly, arms outstretched in welcome.

Wordlessly, Geralt dismounted. He grasped the ala's head by its horns and wrenched it free from its hook. Congealed gore dripped from its neck.

Wrinkling his nose, the advisor turned towards doors. "Come in. You may present your trophy to my lord."

The lord and his court were already assembled inside, the evening's banquet laid before them. Loud and quite drunk they scarcely noticed Geralt until he approached the table.

Raising the head, Geralt thrust it onto the lord's plate. A momentary hush fell in the room. "My fee," he prompted.

"Of course," the lord gave a brisk nod, momentarily startled out of his drunkenness.

Now the room grew louder than before as the crowd called for more wine in celebration. Several of the lord's lieutenants gathered around for a closer look. Geralt stepped to the side before they could jostle him in their eagerness.

"Won't you give us the honor of being our guest for the night?" the lord offered.

"My fee and then I'll leave." Though he hid it well, Geralt was weary from his battle with the ala. More urgently, he needed to tend to the wound in his side where the create attempted to gore him. His improvised bandage was already damp with blood.

The lord nodded to a guard, then leaned back in his chair. He took a sip of his wine, eyes dipping down to study the ala closely.

"So it was an ala," he glanced up at Geralt, smug. "I told you my advisor is never wrong."

Geralt ignored the comment, eyes idly traveling to the archway where the guard had disappeared.

"You've never seen one before, have you?" the lord persisted.

"No," Geralt allowed himself to reeled into the conversation.

"This is our second."

That did catch Geralt's attention. "What happened to the first?"

The lord smiled, glad to have an audience. "Nearly five years back, we had the worst winter in generations. We were plagued by weeks of gales and snow, though no other village in the region bore the same toll. There was no great serpent, but other omens persisted. A raven would perch on the fortress wall before each storm. A dark wolf poached livestock. A cow bore a black calf out of season."

The lord noticed the skepticism in Geralt's expression and even seemed to enjoy it. "You see, ale do not always appear as serpents. They shapeshift, appearing in dozens of different forms. They can be as convincing as a doppler, save for having six fingers on each hand. Ours preferred the form of a man.

"He appeared as a traveler caught in a snowstorm. A villager took pity on him and took him into his home, though the walls shook as soon as he crossed the threshold. And for weeks after the storms continued, one after another, seemingly endless.

"Soon it became clear the cause could only be supernatural. And soon after that my advisor learned that the storms coincided with the traveler's arrival. My guard arrested him and the storms stopped," the lord paused. "We were lucky he used that form. Men are much easier to overpower than monsters."

That seemed to be a signal of sorts. As the lord spoke the final sentence, a guard seized Geralt by his shoulders and slammed him into the banquet table. His side took the brunt of the impact, pain searing through him as if his flesh was torn anew. Geralt doubled over on himself, grasping at the table to keep himself upright.

Two more guards piled onto him, one pinning each arm as he reached for his blade. Geralt thrashed in their grip, but before he could attempt to throw them, the lord put a knife to his throat. Teeth bared, Geralt stilled.

"Take his weapons and armor."

The guards left Geralt in little more than his shirt and trousers, the rest of his gear left in a pile for the lord's court to pick through. They bound his wrists together in front of him, then led him from the hall. A passageway to the left took them to a narrow stairwell. As they descended, an awful stench overtook them.

The stairwell ended at an iron gate, built for function rather than style. Beyond it a rocky chamber opened up, long ago hewn into the base of the fortress. The gate gave him little vision of what it guarded, save a bare earth floor and enough torches to light the darkest crevices.

The guards parted to allow another man through. Geralt glanced back at him, finding a young man in a threadbare tunic. He hauled a large bucket with him with the caution of a smith handling molten silver.

Geralt could tell by scent alone that the bucket was not filled with water. The substance bore a heavy musk, the origin of which he could not determine. The servant poured the whole bucket over him, drenching his neck and back. It immediately seeped through his shirt, leaving the thin fabric clinging to his broad shoulders.

The guards were unwilling to touch him now, prodding him forward with their spear tips. One freed Geralt's hands, then forced him through the gate with a strike from the butt of his spear. Geralt stumbled but soon recovered, bracing himself with one hand on the hewn rock wall. The guards slammed the gate behind him.

Keeping the wall at his back, Geralt surveyed the cave. As the chamber opened around him, his eyes were first drawn to the wall at his right. A barrier stretched across its entire length, gaps in the grating far enough apart to view the room beyond. Assembled in the chamber was most of the court. The lord sat in his great chair, his wife and his mistress on each side, and the whole cast of hangers-on crowded around them.

Thinning his lips, Geralt, turned his attention from them. The left wall and ceiling were solid stone, no chance for escape there. More promisingly, another tunnel was carved into the opposite of the cave, mirroring the one from which Geralt came.

Landmarks noted, Geralt scanned the room for any improvised weapons. The floor was free from obstruction save a few stones not large enough to fill his palm. A few formations along the walls seemed more promising, some loose enough Geralt might pull them free.

The audience tittered. Geralt spared them another glance but found their attention focused across the cave. The opposite gate rattled in its frame.

The light behind it, a creature stood in shadow, hunched forwards to fit inside the hallway. Geralt narrowed his eyes, trying to distinguish at least the creature's taxonomy. It appeared humanoid, though dark fur covered its body. Its head tapered into a snout, the silhouette distinctive of a predator.

His eyes adjusted to the light, Geralt studied it in detail as it appeared to do the same. In places black-scaled skin was visible between patches of fur. If it was a werewolf, it was unlike any Geralt had ever encountered. Its snout was shorter and rounded ears set back farther, flat and close to its skull. As a whole, its features were an odd coupling of species, part wolf, part reptile, part man.

His eyes traveled down to its human-like hands. Its fingers were long, clawed and it bore six on each hand. Geralt frowned as realization struck him. The second ala.

In a way, it was pitiful. Its teeth were filed down and its claws blunted. Despite this handicap, Geralt did not doubt it was capable of crushing bone.

All signs indicated his captor did not intend for the ala to kill him, but that did not make it any less threatening. It was obvious it was a fight the lord intended him to lose. For what reason though, he could only guess. Entertainment? Or some convoluted form of torture?

The ala rattled at the gate again, forcing him from reverie to action. With the harsh shriek of metal against metal, the mechanism unlocked and the gate swung open. The creature bounded into the chamber.

A few paces from Geralt it stopped short. In the larger space, it drew itself up to its full height. It paced to the side, gleaming eyes fixed on Geralt as it huffed in the musk that covered him. And now it was impossible to ignore the fact that the creature was aroused.

Geralt grimaced as the disgusting nature of the lord's intentions became clear. He spared another look at the court assembled, each member watching with twisted glee. With these preparations, it was obvious the lord had done this before. Perhaps he had even done this often.

Overwhelming rage swept over Geralt at the thought of the lord's previous victims. Had he met them in the village? Had they long since fled his lands? Had they even survived the ordeal?

Weighing the size of the creature, Geralt doubted even he would be able to survive such an assault. Not without injury.

Its cock was as long as his forearm and almost as thick. The shape barely resembled a human member, thick ridges undulating down the swollen shaft. The entire length of it was already slick and dripping with a milky substance.

His observation came to a halt as the ala lunged at him. Geralt spun away from its attack. The creature's claws only caught the fabric of his shirt, opening a large rent in the back. But it had put its weight into the blow. Though thrown off balance, its shoulder connected with Geralt, sending him face-first into the wall.

Geralt caught himself and whirled back to face it. He sidestepped another swipe, trying to put more space between them. He knew he had little hope in defeating the ala if he grappled with it, but the ala seemed to know this too. It locked with him, wrestling him onto his back with ease.

Bracing himself, he kicked up into the creature. His heel connected with its abdomen and it reeled back, allowing him time to roll onto his knees. But the maneuver did not buy him enough time. The ala flung itself on top of him, crushing him back into the ground.

The breath knocked from him, Geralt lay stunned. He dimly felt the creature tear open his trousers. It rutted against him, cock sliding across his ass as it sought to penetrate him. The awful slickness was enough to bring him back and he reached out, grabbing for a loose stone to strike at it.

The creature sunk its teeth into the junction of his neck and shoulder, forcing a scream from him. Instinctively Geralt pulled away. Though his flesh tore, he did not succeed in loosening its hold. He dropped the stone and reached back, scrabbling to free himself from its jaws.

Finally, the creature found its mark, forcing itself inside him. Though Geralt had judged their coupling impossible based on sight alone, that estimation proved inadequate. Its cock was too thick, far too much for him to take as it pushed into him with the lack of finesse of any beast in senseless rut. But of course his body would take it as it would any other abuse.

It stilled briefly after it seated itself inside him. Geralt lay motionless beneath it. Even the slightest movement brought another wave of pain. All too soon it began to thrust at a desperate pace.

Geralt pulled his chin into his chest. He could not focus on anything beyond the creature and the pain tearing through his own body. Blood trickled down his neck and seeped into the dirt. The rough ground opened scrapes on his skin at each rough movement of its hips.

Teeth still embedded in Geralt's neck, the creature reared up. Arching backward, Geralt rested against its chest limply, impaled on its cock as it pumped into him a final time.

Without warning, the creature dropped him. Geralt collapsed, landing hard on the ground. He groaned as the creature pulled out, fresh pain spiking through his body.

He felt its cum seep from him, dribbling down the insides of his thighs. He lay still beyond his heaving chest, though his adrenaline drunk mind buzzed relentlessly that he needed to get up.

Levering himself up on his forearms, Geralt dragged himself to the nearest wall. He rested there, eyes fixed on the creature and back turned to the bars as he tried to catch his breath. Gradually he allowed his senses expand past the tight circle of his own body.

He caught pieces of the conversation in the room beyond first. Some guests ventured daringly close to the barrier, eager to inspect the damage done to him.

"--moaning like a gutter whore--"

"--heard that of witchers. They'll as soon as bed a monster than kill it."

"I'd take him myself, if that monster didn't leave him gaping so--"

With some difficulty, Geralt turned his attention back to the creature. It no longer seemed to bear to wild desperation of rut, but he had no way of knowing if it had been sated. It met his gaze, attention keen on his body. Geralt swallowed.

The remnants of his trousers lay tangled around his knees, hobbling him. Reluctantly, Geralt discarded them. Only his tattered shirt remained, the thin fabric covering him past his hips. He dug his fingernails into the stone wall behind him, covertly attempting to pry a piece of stone free.

Through the metal grating, one man caught several locks of Geralt's hair. He pulled hard, forcing Geralt's cheek against the barrier. Teeth gritted, Geralt eyed him.

"Enjoying yourself, witcher?" His lecherous eyes traveled down Geralt's body. Geralt did not deign to reply.

"Too good to answer me?" He pulled harder at Geralt's hair. "Or are you just that used to being bred by monsters?" He spat on his cheek. Geralt could do nothing more than close his eyes.

The creature stirred and the man retreated, startled by the sudden movement. A few others chuckled at his abrupt change in temperament.

Geralt wiped his cheek with his sleeve and shifted his focus. The monster paced along the back wall of the cave. Geralt redoubled his efforts to secure a makeshift weapon, no longer attempting subterfuge. The lord's assembly heckled him as unfamiliar fear made his fingers shake. Then the ala lunged.

Now weakened, it took the ala only seconds to pin him on his back, claws tight around his biceps. Gripping at the grate behind him, Geralt kicked out the creature, but to little effect.

Geralt still struggled as it nosed at his throat, lapping at his bloodstained skin. He jerked upwards, headbutting the creature. In response, it closed its teeth around his throat. Its grip was not great enough to crush his larynx and its teeth not sharp enough to rip out his throat. Geralt threw his hands up to defend himself. His fingers slipped as he forced them into its slavering maw to try to wrench its jaws open. The ala only tightened its hold, choking him.

Again, it forced itself into his ass. The cum still inside him made its path easier, but it was far more painful. Geralt was sore, sensitive flesh scraped raw.

He struggled to breathe, consciousness fading as the ala fucked into him again.


End file.
